


asked not to be alone

by escherzo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Oviposition, Sibling Incest, Tentacle ELC-Verse, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11407863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “Nick,” Marcus whimpers out after a long silence, the two of them just staring at each other. “Fuck. Does it stop hurting?”“Itoldyou to ask me things,” Nick says, and he’s trying to not lose himself right now, but it’s a struggle. “And also like—Jesus, kiddo, don’t wipe the slick on the shared towels after you shower.”





	asked not to be alone

**Author's Note:**

> my old bandom friends are currently going "how did it take you this long to write tentacle fic in a fandom you're in" to which I say, fair, but also shut your faces
> 
> Lovingly set in the 'you acquire a tentacle when you are up for your first year of your ELC'-verse, one of my very favorite universes that hockey fandom has created
> 
> (Pure idfic, if we are all being honest here. Title from t.A.T.u.'s "Craving")

Marcus comes to Christmas still shellshocked, but Nick expected as much. First call-up, first game against him, and everything else that goes with first year of an ELC, and if he wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table with a dazed look in his eyes Nick would be worried he was blocking the whole thing out. 

“Having fun with wriggle time?” Nick asks, and Marcus goes red. 

“Shut _up_.”

Nick’s a year removed from the end of his ELC and so entirely within his rights to give Marcus hell, honestly. If it’s mean, he can excuse it as revenge for all of the nasty-ass sweaty gear Marcus left on his side of the room when they were kids. 

He’s going to have to be careful, though. The whole… process has been a thing for a long time, and he’s gotta make sure their dad isn’t in earshot or he might weigh in to embarrass them both and there are things that can’t be un-known, okay. 

On the other hand, well.

“Are you doing okay with it?” he asks, settling down in the chair nearest Marcus, because he can’t not. He had to go into this mostly blind, but he doesn’t have to keep that going. 

“We’re not talking about this.”

“I just finished going through it. We can. It’s okay. It’s a good thing, kiddo, means you made the show.”

“I—“ Marcus hesitates, intently staring at the table. “If I run into a problem I’ll let you know.”

“They told you everything?”

“Enough.”

Well, that’s not a yes.

“Seriously, you can ask me whatever.”

Marcus looks up, still red in the face, and scowls at him, shaking his head. Fine. If Marcus gets himself into a mess, at least Nick can say he tried. 

*

Nick is the one who gets into the mess, as it turns out. 

He’s just very innocently wiping his face off on a towel in the bathroom after brushing his teeth that night and licks his lips and—the taste is sweet, and sets his teeth on edge and his body abuzz and—

“MARCUS.”

Marcus doesn’t answer, and so Nick storms into his room, and—oh.

He’s curled into a ball on his bed, naked, one hand around a newly-formed tentacle—still red-tinged, Nick notes distantly, purple instead of Sabres navy—and three fingers of his other hand shoved in his mouth. His face is red and there are tears beading at the corners of his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain.

“Nick,” Marcus whimpers out after a long silence, the two of them just staring at each other. “Fuck. Does it stop hurting?”

“I _told_ you to ask me things,” Nick says, and he’s trying to not lose himself right now, but it’s a struggle. “And also like—Jesus, kiddo, don’t wipe the slick on the shared towels after you shower.”

“I—didn’t think,” Marcus says, and Nick comes closer, because he can’t stay this far away when Marcus is in pain. Even if he knows this will pass. Even if he knows this is just part of the development process. “Did you swallow some?”

“Yeah.” Nick’s voice comes out hoarse. “Mine hurt when it was new too. It—“ He swallows, mouth feeling too dry, his whole body shaky and hot. “I got help. Early on. I don’t think it’ll last long if you don’t, but.”

But he’s hard from the slick and he’s right here and it’ll make things better. It’ll make Marcus stop hurting. His thoughts aren’t very clear, anymore, but he knows that much.

“Hey,” Marcus says, reaching out for Nick, and Nick goes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I didn’t think. If you want to, please, I need. Just don’t hate me after.”

“Don’t hate _me_ ,” Nick chokes out, but he’s pulling his shirt up over his head, throwing his sweats to the side. “It’ll make it stop hurting. I promise.”

He kneels up onto the bed naked and prays, with the last of his coherency, that this will be okay. Marcus can’t control the tentacle very well, yet, and when he lets go of it, it writhes, lashing out and slapping out at the insides of Nick’s thighs, and he closes his eyes and spreads his legs wider like it wants, reaching for it to guide it inside him. 

Marcus clutches at his hips as he works himself down, impaled and spread wide, and it won’t hold still inside him, wriggling back and forth the whole way, and then all of a sudden he’s pressed hip to hip with his brother and he can’t help but look, can’t help but see Marcus’s face, flushed and overwhelmed, his head thrown back, and when he rises up a little and then sinks back down Marcus bites his lip so hard it has to hurt to hold in a noise. 

Fuck, it feels—it might be the slick doing its work, but it feels good, too good, and Nick can’t hold in the noises he makes as he fucks himself on it, louder than the squelching of the tentacle moving inside him.

“I—“ Marcus’s eyes go wide, and he grips at Nick harder, seized by a feeling he doesn’t know how to name or place, and Nick knows.

“Hey,” he says, reaching out to stroke through Marcus’s hair as the first egg presses slow and inexorable into him. “It’s okay. Go ahead. Fill me up.”

Another egg, and Marcus looks at him, face so open and trusting, and he says, soft enough that Nick barely hears it, “please, can I. Nick. I’m sorry, but. Please let me kiss you?”

Nick smiles without even meaning to, helpless to deny him, leans down and fits his lips to Marcus’s as he feels another egg slip in, nestling deep inside his body. Marcus is knocking him up, he thinks distantly, opening his mouth to let his brother’s tongue slick hot against his. It’s so easy to lose himself in this, rocking back into the press of the tentacle inside him, all his thoughts taken up by the way Marcus is filling him up, kissing him, surrounding him. 

“How many—“ Marcus pants against his lips. “How many will it be?”

Nick breaks the kiss for a moment to try and remember how to speak, still smiling. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Regier wasn’t very specific.”

“They told me seven or eight but—ah—“ Nick closes his eyes and shudders as two more slip into him in rapid succession. “My first time, it was fifteen.”

“ _God._ ”

Marcus pulls him back into the kiss and Nick lets himself be overtaken by the sensations, the slow drag of eggs pressing up inside him, the desperate press of Marcus’s hips. It feels like it goes on forever, an endless drugging pleasure and the slow expanding of his belly as he takes and takes and takes. 

He’s lost count, by the time Marcus is done, a hot rush of fluid after to fertilize that never seems to end. It has to be at least fifteen, but probably more. Marcus rests a hand on the curve of his stomach as he slips out, and Nick stares down at it, fascinated. God, he’s so big. He’ll get bigger, in the next three days before the eggs come out again, and he shivers at the thought. 

“Thank you,” Marcus says, as Nick shifts to the side and presses himself close. “Thank you.”

“You would have done it for me.”

“I didn’t, though. You did. God, though, look at you, fuck.” 

Marcus sounds fascinated more than anything else, still stroking his stomach. He’s fading, blinking slow and trying to conceal the yawn he wants to let out, and Nick’s wrung out too, now that the slick has cleared his system—or gotten what it wanted, it’s hard to say. 

“Sleep, it’s okay,” Nick murmurs, kissing Marcus on the forehead. “It won’t hurt anymore now.”

Marcus smiles, pulling Nick in a little closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Nick says, and pulls the blanket up over both of them, swollen belly pressed to Marcus’s side. 

It’ll be alright. In the moment, he’s sure of that.


End file.
